


The Purpose of Love

by Mizmak



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Happy Ending, Love Confessions, M/M, Sweet, light kissing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-03
Updated: 2020-08-03
Packaged: 2021-03-05 22:27:23
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,042
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25692784
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Mizmak/pseuds/Mizmak
Summary: After saving the world, Aziraphale decided that Crowley needed a new purpose in life -- which was not exactly music to Crowley's ears.
Relationships: Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens)
Comments: 16
Kudos: 71





	The Purpose of Love

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks to sporkofdoom for the story prompt!

“Crowley,” Aziraphale asked one drizzly November afternoon, “when was the last time you tempted anyone?”

His adored best friend lay sprawled in his usual spot on the living room sofa, with his portable computer device propped against his knees. “What? I don’t do that anymore.”

“Well, I still perform miracles.” Aziraphale sat in his armchair nearby. He held a book he’d borrowed from the village’s small library— _Retirement and How to Survive It_.

He had permanently closed the bookshop three months ago, after he and Crowley decided to admit that they rather liked each other more than a little bit, after they decided it was rather nice to kiss, and to speak endearments of love to each other on a regular basis, and after they then decided to buy a cottage in the South Downs where they had lived together in joyful harmony up until this particular moment.

“Of course you still do miracles.” Crowley glanced over. “You get last-minute restaurant reservations, or clean up the mess in the kitchen all the time.”

“No, my dear. I mean miracles that help others. A few days ago, for instance, there was a sign in the village about a lost cat. I miraculously found it and restored the poor creature to its owner. Most gratifying.”

“Well, you’re an angel. I suppose you can’t help it.”

“Yes, but my _question_ was, what about _you?_ You don’t go around tempting people anymore, or not so I’ve noticed.”

“Nope. No need. Not working for that lot anymore, in case you forgot.”

“Of course I didn’t forget. And I’m quite pleased that you don’t do demonic things these days.” Aziraphale tapped at his library book. “But what exactly do you _do_ , now that you have lost your original purpose here on Earth?”

Crowley groaned as he struggled to sit up straight, the better to turn to face Aziraphale. “ _What_ are you on about?”

“This.” Aziraphale held up the book. 

“ _Retirement and How to Survive It_. Right. You do know that’s for humans?”

Of course he knew that. “Yes, well, I thought it might have some good advice for _anyone_ who is no longer doing what they have been doing for most of their existence. Some things that apply to humans who leave their employment could just as easily apply to us.”

“And by ‘us’, you mean _me_.” 

Aziraphale didn’t want to admit the truth of that accusation, so he sidestepped it by completely ignoring it. “You are right, of course, that we don’t need to worry about finances, nor medical care, nor deciding where to live. However, the author makes a good point about replacing the three fundamental things which a job provides.”

Crowley sighed. “Really? Six thousand years of following orders from Heaven or Hell, while doing our best to slack off whenever possible so we could enjoy all the Earthly pleasures we could? That wasn’t _work_ , Angel. That was a _game_.”

Aziraphale begged to differ. “Perhaps _you_ enjoyed thwarting both Heaven and Hell with your schemes, but _I_ tried quite hard to be dutiful.” He paused as Crowley rolled his eyes. “Fine, yes, I did shirk my duties when convenient, but that doesn’t mean it wasn’t work. Or something akin to a human job.” He tapped the book again. “And when a person leaves work, there are psychological consequences.”

Crowley grinned. “I like the consequence of being able to lie around doing nothing.”

“Precisely where I am heading with this. My dear, this book states that a job provides three key elements which people need to replace in retirement. First, a job provides a sense of _community_ —a way for people to interact and find companionship.”

Crowley set his computer on the coffee table. “We have that. You and me. Only ‘community’ we need.”

“I agree.”

“Glad to hear it.”

“The second thing a job provides is a sense of _structure_ —people like to have routines and know what’s expected of them from day to day or even hour to hour. Without that, they may feel untethered.”

Crowley shrugged. “Never had a routine. You know that. Some weeks I’d get a specific temptation request every day, other weeks there’d be nothing at all. Hell isn’t exactly _organized_ very well.”

“No,” Aziraphale admitted. “Neither is Heaven. So we don’t need to replace a structure that never existed. Which brings me to the third factor—a sense of _purpose_. A job often provides people with this, and when they retire, it usually goes away. Who are they then? What will they do to feel of value?”

“Play golf,” Crowley said.

“I am trying to make a serious point here.”

“So am I. Humans retire and take up golf. Or knitting. Or travel. We don’t need to do that. Besides, you’ve got your books and your cooking, and I’ve got the gardening.”

“I am talking about having a _purpose_ in life, not a hobby.” He closed the book and set it aside. “We _were_ an angel and a demon. We _had_ a purpose—to perform miracles and temptations. Now we are simply spiritual beings who dwell on Earth but _I_ still find it rewarding to do miracles now and then, such as finding a lost pet, while you do nothing of the sort.”

“Ah. I knew it was coming back to _me_ , and not _you_.” 

“You ought to have something more important to do,” Aziraphale replied. He looked pointedly at the portable computer thing. “Something better than staring at that, or at your phone, for hours at a time.”

“Really? You think that’s all I do?”

He ought to have picked up on the annoyed tone, but Aziraphale was on a roll. “I’m not asking you to do anything _difficult_ , or engage in hard work. Merely to think about doing something worthwhile.”

“Ngk.” Crowley stretched his arms. “Think I’ll go for a long walk. You can sit there and keep navel gazing while I’m gone. Please be back to your normal self by the time I return.” He rose from the sofa in one fluid movement.

“Wait!” Aziraphale was having none of it. “You can’t simply run away from this issue. It’s _important_.”

“Not to me, it isn’t.” Crowley headed for the front door.

Aziraphale jumped up and dashed across the room to grasp his arm. “What exactly do you mean, _my normal self?”_

Crowley shrugged off the hold. “I mean, the angel who absentmindedly tuts and titters away his day with his nose in a book most of the time while miracling up one cup of tea or cocoa after another when he isn’t mucking about with a new recipe and messing up the kitchen again while humming snatches of Mozart to himself, and who likes to cuddle with me on the sofa and plant soft kisses all over my face without saying one bloody idiotic word about what I _ought_ to be doing because he just wants me to be happy because he loves me and I _am_ happy doing exactly what I’m doing or at least I _was_ until about five minutes ago.”

And then he strode out the door, slamming it shut behind him.

Aziraphale stared forlornly at the door. Oh, dear, what had he gone and done? 

“I was only trying to help,” he said to the door, which naturally, did not answer. 

Possibly he should not try helping someone who apparently didn’t seem to know that he needed help. 

Oh, dear.

*

Precisely twenty-three seconds passed before Crowley strolled back into the cottage.

Aziraphale still stood there by the door, and had to leap out of the way. 

“It’s _raining_ ,” Crowley said. He stomped over to the sofa and flopped down. “ _Damn_.” 

“Your hair is wet.” Aziraphale joined him, sitting close. He snapped his fingers to produce crackling flames in the fireplace, and another snap brought two cups of tea to the coffee table. “So are your clothes.”

“I noticed that.” Crowley snapped his fingers, and everything instantly dried. 

“I’m afraid that you didn’t give me enough time to return to my ‘normal’ self, my dear.”

“Well, you made tea. That’s something.”

“I am sorry.” Aziraphale lay a hand on Crowley’s thigh. “I didn’t mean to upset you. It was only an idea…that is, it seemed to me that you might want to do something more with your life.”

“Not sure I get what you mean. I never _did_ have what that idiot book calls a ‘sense of purpose’, other than to do as little real ‘work’ as possible while having as much fun as I could get away with.” He leaned forward to take up his tea, and sipped it quietly.

“I suppose it was different for you, yes.” Aziraphale picked up his tea and drank the soothing liquid. “I was doing good deeds as much as possible, and I still do them when I can. It makes me feel useful, that I’m doing something for others—that I have something to offer this world. I couldn’t ask you to go around tempting people again, obviously. But I thought perhaps you might want a new purpose—something similar to what I have.”

“Right. I’ll take up finding lost pets, then.”

“That’s a lovely idea, though not what I meant.”

Crowley finished his tea and set down the cup. He turned sideways, and draped his arm around Aziraphale’s shoulders. “Something to offer the world? Something that makes me feel useful?”

“Yes. Something to look back on over the years, that you can think about and say, _that was worth doing—it made a difference_.”

“Hm.” Crowley twined his fingers in Aziraphale’s hair as he slowly and softly caressed the back of his head. “Let me think about that.”

“That’s all I was asking.” Aziraphale set his tea down. He relaxed into Crowley’s touch, so warm, so gentle. He closed his eyes. “Mm. That feels nice.”

“I’ve thought about it.”

“What, for all of thirty seconds?”

“Yup.” 

He felt Crowley’s lips brush his forehead. “Ah…” Aziraphale opened his eyes. “Are you distracting me now? Is that your ploy?”

“I know what my purpose in life is,” Crowley replied. “ _You_.”

Aziraphale kissed his cheek before nestling his head on his chest. He wrapped an arm around Crowley’s waist. “If you’re going to say romantic things about only needing to love me and not needing anything else, then—” He briefly tightened his hold. “Then do please go on.”

“I’m serious, Angel. Something to offer the world, right? Right. Fine. It wasn’t all just a game. You know what else I had? You. And you _are_ my whole world. Something to make me feel useful, to make a difference? It’s not just _this_ —” Crowley kissed the top of Aziraphale’s head. “Although that’s the most important thing, mind. But it’s everything else that I do, too. Tell me, when did you last pay a utility bill, hm?”

Aziraphale tilted his head up, his brows furrowed. “A what?”

“Humans like it when you pay for the electricity and the water and such. Property taxes, too. Ever notice anyone coming round to shut off the services for nonpayment, Angel? No. And do you know why? Because I take care of it, without ever bothering you about any of those mundane tasks. You don’t need to be bothered. Not now, and not in London, either.”

“What do you mean, not in London?”

“I mean the bookshop. All the way back in oh, I think it was 1802 or so, couple of years after you opened it. Bumped into a tax collector at the entryway—the city was keen to boot you out for not paying. You never remembered to pay the bills, Angel. You got distracted by your books, I reckon, as well as your heavenly duties. So I took care of it for you. And the next one, and the overdue gas bills, and a century or so later, the ones for the telephone service—”

“Crowley!” He’d had no idea. All that time, Aziraphale had paid no attention to such things as who paid for the lighting or the heat or anything else, figuring that Heaven had somehow taken care of such details. “Why didn’t you _tell_ me?”

“Why bother? Didn’t want you fretting about your ‘hereditary enemy’ footing the bills and risking getting into trouble for it. You live in your own world, Aziraphale. Books, tea, fine food, blessings and miracles to perform—you shouldn’t have to bother about anything else.” Crowley smiled. “Like how to ride the omnibus.”

“The omnibus?” He was feeling more confused than ever. “What omnibus?”

“The one in 1850-something that you couldn’t figure out how to get on or how to pay for or how to let the conductor know when you wanted to get off. First time you’d ever tried to use one, remember?”

A memory came flooding back, of his embarrassment over the incident, and how clumsy and ignorant it had made him feel. Yet the next time he tried public transport in the city, it had all gone ever so smoothly. _Oh_. “You fixed it somehow, didn’t you?”

“A little demonic miracle that made every form of transit obey your desires without question. That’s all.”

“That’s _all?”_ All these decades…he had assumed that once again, Heaven had somehow stepped in to make traveling easier for him, when all along, it had been Crowley’s doing instead. “My dear, you’ve been _taking care_ of me without saying a word.”

“Restaurant cooks always perform at their best whenever you’re present,” Crowley replied. “Wine stewards somehow find the vintages that excel all others. Your barber’s tools are always at their sharpest, your tailor suddenly finds a hidden bolt of your favorite material that went out of style over a century ago, the books you were eyeing in the auction house sales catalogue are never bid on by anyone else.” He paused to kiss Aziraphale’s cheek. “Even the cocoa powder you buy is never stale.”

_All this time._ And he had not said a single word, simply because he didn’t want any worrying and of course, he was right—Aziraphale would have fretted horribly over the possibility of Hell finding out just how much good Crowley was doing for an angel. “You fool. You glorious, wonderful, absurd _fool_.” He cupped Crowley’s face and pulled him in for a long, delightful kiss. 

“Couldn’t help it,” Crowley murmured as their lips parted. “Making life easier for you gave me a sense of _purpose_.” He kissed him again, lightly. “And it still does.”

Aziraphale sighed in contentment. Possibly he had been overthinking things again, as usual. “My dear, you have most _definitely_ made a difference in the world—my world, that is. _Thank you_.”

“Anytime, Angel.”

With a snap of his fingers, he sent the book about retirement back to the village library. “I’m done with that. It was really more for humans, anyway.”

Crowley lay a hand on Aziraphale’s chest, caressing him in slow circles. “Good. But I will do one more thing—I _am_ going to find any pets that go astray in the village. Maybe for the next few villages in the area, as well.” He smiled. “All creatures great and small.”

“Oh, I should like that of all things.” What a wonderful purpose that was, indeed. “I’ll help, if you wish.”

“Of course I wish,” Crowley replied. “How could I do anything of any real value without you?”

“I’m sorry I upset you earlier.” Aziraphale glanced out the front window, where the rain poured down, while a fierce wind had picked up, battering the panes. “I’m glad it was raining.”

“Well, my striding off was more for show, I’ll admit. Wouldn’t have stayed out that long even if it had been sunny and warm. Rather be here with you, even when you get odd notions.”

“I shall endeavor to curtail them in future.” Aziraphale shifted out of their embrace. “What would you like me to cook for dinner? I’ll make one of your favorites.” Crowley actually enjoyed eating more since they’d moved to the cottage, ever since Aziraphale had learned how to make gourmet meals.

“How about that blackened chicken thing with the pasta?”

“Yes, that’s good. Fairly simple.” As Aziraphale pushed off the sofa, a thought crossed his mind. “You know, it was rather astonishing, now that I think about it, how _quickly_ I mastered the art of fine cooking.” He gazed down fondly at his dear friend. “ _You_ wouldn’t have had anything to do with that, would you?”

But Crowley shook his head. “I didn’t. Yeah, I thought about it…you know, a little demonic miracle here or there to smooth things along, just out of habit.”

“And you didn’t? Not even a little bit?” Puzzling. He truly didn’t know how he’d made such tremendous progress in only a few months.

“Nah. You were doing fine on your own, Angel. Maybe because you had a strong _purpose_ in mind—not just to make food that you liked, but to make food _I_ would want to eat. You wanted me to love it, and I do.”

“Ah. Yes. Of course.” Perhaps, after all, the most important difference he could make in the world was to love Crowley, and to do whatever he could to make him happy. Aziraphale held out his hand. “Come and help. I believe you can manage boiling water for the pasta?”

Crowley clasped his hand, and as Aziraphale helped pull him up, he replied, “Yup. Believe I can fill the wine glasses, too.”

And he did.

*

Some hours later, as they lay entwined in their bed, Aziraphale whispered into Crowley’s ear, “I love you, and I love that we can talk about anything at all, and even have a small disagreement, without loving each other a single atom less than we did before.”

“Mm-hm,” Crowley murmured, “it’s why I’m here.”

“Hm?”

“Love, Angel.” Crowley brushed Aziraphale’s face with his fingertips. “Only purpose I’ve ever needed. Just to love you, and to be loved by you. Couldn’t be simpler.”

Aziraphale kissed his fingertips before resting his head on his chest. “If you’re going to say romantic things about only needing to love me and not needing anything else, then—” He smiled. “Then do please go on.”

And so Crowley did.


End file.
